Sinking Hearts
by sammasterpiece
Summary: Finn boards the Titanic because he thinks he might find himself in America; Rachel boards the Titanic because she knows she was made for the Broadway stage. The two meet and fall in love, but neither know that the ship is doomed for disaster...
1. Waiting

**Author's Note: Finchel's really the only Glee couple I ship (pun unintended har har). I decided there's not nearly enough good Finchel fic out there, so I decided to try my hand at it. **

**As for the setting, I didn't want it to be present time and I didn't want it to be a futurefic. I also wanted to put them in a real historical setting. Thus, Titanic!Finchel.**

**Finn and Rachel are the only characters from Glee that will have a roll in this. The chapters are going to be really short, but that will allow me to have more of them and update more often, as the actual trip takes place over about five days. **

**That's all for now :)**

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><p>He stood on the dock, several worn suitcases by his feet, and stared at the gigantic steamer ship that was floating in the harbour. The steam that billowed from its engines drifted up to merge with the foggy sky, smoky black on light grey.<p>

_There was a reason it was called _Titanic, he thought wryly to himself. It was surely the largest ship he'd ever seen. And here he was presented with the opportunity to sail on it, the first ever luxury ocean liner, across the Atlantic Ocean towards America, with everything he owned packed into two bags by his feet.

_America._ The name still sent a thrill through his body. America was the land of promise: it was the place people went when they had nothing, or they didn't know what they were looking for. It was the place where those people made their dreams a reality.

Finn Hudson was not a rich man; he wasn't particularly intelligent or confident or motivated. But he was sailing to America, and he was going to make a name for himself. He was determined to make it that far at least, because he had made a promise.

It was a promise he had made before he could even talk, when his father had gone missing on a trans-Atlantic flight more than twenty years ago. Then, he had been searching for America, with a goal that was very similar to Finn's. Now, at twenty-two, Finn looked to finish his father's goal for him.

A small part of him admitted that part of the goal was for himself. He was twenty-two years old, and he didn't know who he was. He had been drifting, lost, for most of his life. He needed something to hold him down. He needed an anchor. And he thought that maybe America would be that anchor; that it would be for him what it had become for so many others.

He looked down at the third-class ticket in his hand. It had taken a lot of work to find the money just to pay for that single ticket. Months of working at a tire shop for practically nothing, trying to earn the money he needed in time for the voyage. He had thought he would never make it; with only a couple of months before the _Titanic_ set sail he was still a couple hundred dollars short. For his birthday the previous month his mother, along with his step-father and -brother, had provided him with the remaining money. He had been speechless.

"Oh, honey," his mother had told him, somewhat tearfully, "we know that you've been trying to find yourself. And maybe America's not the answer, but it seems like a good place to start looking."

As always, Finn hadn't known exactly what to say. "Thanks," he had said at last, putting as much emotion as he could into that single word.

His mother had understood; she always did. She had hugged him tightly, saying, "I'll miss you. We all will."

"I'll come back," he had said, but it wasn't a promise. He didn't know where he belonged, but he knew it wasn't here.

Many times since that night he had wondered if he was doing the right thing. Was leaving everything he knew and loved behind for a different world daring or just stupid? He had considered throwing his ticket away, ripping it to pieces, giving it to a stranger. But his heart continued to pull him towards the _Titanic_, towards America, towards the open sea in which his father had lost his life.

Sighing, he glanced down at his watch. It was just after seven; the Titanic had already been docked for an hour. He knew it would likely be several hours before the third class passengers would be asked to board, but he was too anxious to walk around. Instead he sat himself down on one of his suitcases and planted his feet firmly on the ground, just in case he came to the realization that he had lost his mind.

_You can't back out of this now, Hudson,_ he told himself. _You're in this, for better or for worse._

He gulped. It was okay for him to be afraid, wasn't it? He remembered his mother telling him once that all the best men had fears, and weren't afraid to admit them. She had also told him that bravery wasn't having no fears, it was facing the ones you did have.

Well here he was, facing one of his fears. And he was going to do it; he was going to board the _Titanic_ and sail to America and make a name for himself and make his mother proud.

He looked again at the giant ship waiting at the dock to set sail on her maiden voyage. A long line of first class passengers extended from the ramp leading to the ship. Finn could tell they were first class because of their clothing, the expensive leather quality of their suitcases. They were the kind of suitcases that couldn't be used as seats; their owners were the kind of people that would never sit on a suitcase, anyway.

The line seemed to hardly be moving at all. As time passed by there was nothing for Finn to do but sit on his father's old suitcase on the harbour of Cherbourg; nothing for him to do but sit and watch and wait.

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><p><strong>Please tell me what you think! Is this worth continuing?<strong>


	2. Rachel Berry

The mist was still burning off the water when the _Titanic_ pulled into the harbour and slowly came to a halt in front of the docks. Rachel Berry knew this because she had been waiting at Queenstown's port since before dawn to watch the ship arrive.

But really, she had been waiting much longer than that; she had been waiting for months, years, her entire _life_ for this moment. Within a couple of hours she would be on that ship, and it would be pulling away from European waters and heading across the frigid Atlantic.

Towards America.

Towards New York.

Towards Broadway where she, Rachel Berry, would become a star.

She couldn't remember a time when she didn't know exactly what she wanted. She had been singing since before she could walk, dancing before she could run. She guessed that was what came of having rich, indulgent parents; they allowed her whatever she wanted, whatever the cost.

And right now, she wanted _this_, so badly it hurt her heart to think about it. She stared up at the black hull of the enormous ship with wide eyes, and heard the blood singing through her veins and pounding in her ears. That ship would take her towards her destiny.

Rachel believed fully in her destiny. She still remembered quite clearly the day fifteen years ago when her parents had taken her to an open field at night and told her to look up at the stars. She had been only six years old, and when her mother had said, "Look up there, Rachel. See that? That's your destiny," Rachel had thought she was talking about heaven and had begun to cry.

"Mama, am I going to die?" she had whispered.

Her mother had looked shocked, and then laughed before pulling Rachel into her arms. "No, darling, of course not. I meant look at the sky; look at the stars. See how brightly they shine? That's you, Rachel. You're a star. And one day, you're going to shine brighter than all the rest."

They were words Rachel had taken to heart. She had lived by them, whispered them to herself softly at night when she had no one to talk to. The stars were Rachel's only friends; she thought, in some ways, they were a lot alike. Stars were cold and distant, cautious. And yet they still managed to light up the night.

Her parents had taken her out often on star-gazing trips; it had become something of a family tradition. Once, her father had pointed up at the sky and said, "That's Polaris, the North Star." It had taken Rachel a few minutes to find it, as it was far from the brightest star in the sky. "It's the guiding star—it acts as a compass, it will always lead you home."

Since then, Rachel had always regarded the North Star as _her_ star. She would look for it out her window and reassure herself as to where it was pointing. She thought it led to a place that was bigger and greater than where she was now.

The previous night, and into the early morning, as Rachel had sat alone and shivering on the docks, she had spent hours looking at that star. To her it was a guiding light, and a promise; it reminded her of her goals and of who she really was.

She was Rachel Berry, and she was a star.

Finally, the ship finished unloading. The call for first class passengers was made, and Rachel got to her feet and started dragging her suitcases towards the ship.

"Can I help you with that?" She looked up to see a young man, a wide-brimmed hat shading his face. Under its shadow she could see a friendly grin.

"Yes, thank you," she said politely, passing her bags over to the man.

His grin broadened. "Not every day I get to help out a beautiful young lady like yourself."

Rachel couldn't help but blush. As they walked toward the ship, she cast a sideways glance at the man out of the corner of her eye. He was tall, much taller than her—although most were—and handsome, with a sharp profile and a straight nose and a smiling mouth. She could see a patch of dark hair peeking out from underneath his hat, and he was dressed immaculately in a grey suit.

"May I ask your name?" she asked suddenly.

'Shane Donovan." She could see him looking down at her, that smile still on his lips, and she quickly turned her gaze. "And yours, fair lady?"

"Rachel. Rachel Berry." She didn't know why her voice suddenly sounded so breathless.

"It's a pleasure." He shifted her bags to one hand so he could offer the other to her. Hesitantly, she shook it.

The line of passengers in front of them moved slowly, but at last they found themselves at the top of the ramp connecting the great ship to shore. Two officers dressed in crisp uniforms blocked their passage onto the ship. Shaking from anticipation, Rachel handed her ticket to the first man.

"Name?" he asked her.

"Rachel Berry." She watched as his eyes scanned down the list he held.

"Ah yes, here you are. Cabin B57. Just that way, if you would." She nodded, and the officer added, "I hope you enjoy your trip, Miss Berry."

Shane caught up to her once they had boarded the ship. "Let me walk you to your cabin," he offered immediately.

Rachel couldn't help but smile as he once again took her bags. She was too busy looking around to talk as they walked; the size and grandiosity of everything on the ship had her in awe. They passed several dining rooms, a lounge, and a hall before reaching her room in one of the first hallways. A gold placard on the door announced it as hers.

"Well, here we are," Shane said, placing her bags down by the door.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, gripping his hand again.

He grinned again, bowing to her and sweeping his hat off his head. For the first time, she saw his eyes: they were a light blue tinged with green, surrounded by heavy lashes. "It's been a pleasure, my lady." He paused. "Would you consider meeting me for dinner tonight?"

She couldn't help it; she had already been trapped by his eyes. "Of course," she breathed.

"I'll pick you up at seven." He seemed to hesitate, before swooping down and placing a kiss on her cheek.

Rachel watched as he walked away, a hand raised to her cheek, where she could still feel the touch of his lips on her skin.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: First of all, the reason Rachel doesn't have two dads isn't because I'm homophobic-it's because this is 1912, and a gay couple with a daughter definitely wouldn't have been cool. It took me a while to make that decision, but her parents aren't going to have a roll in the story from this point forward, anyway. <strong>

**I try to make this story as historically accurate as possible, but there are some things I'm too lazy to look up. If you spot something I did wrong (and this goes for all future chapters), let me know and I'll correct it. **

**Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	3. Let Us Fly

**Author's Note: Research tells me that third class cabins were made for two-six people. This, however, is not conducive to my plans, so Finn gets a single room that never existed on the real ship. Just in case anyone reading this is a complete history nerd. **

**As always, I'm too lazy to do intensive research, so I look up what I need and make up the rest. Again, if there's anyone here who knows everything there is to know about the _Titanic_ and is offended by my lack of knowledge.**

**Anyway, here you go. Chapter Three!  
><strong>

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><p>Finn awoke to bright sunlight streaming through his small porthole window. Everything in the room was small, including the bed that barely fit his large frame. It was the biggest room he could afford; located on G-deck, it had a porthole, a bed, a small sink, and that was it. Really, he was lucky for the porthole, because he was sure in such a small room with no window he would soon become claustrophobic.<p>

The window couldn't be opened, much as he would have liked the fresh air. It was located towards the top of his room, and was still only a couple of feet above the water. But he would take it; he knew most of the other cabins on his level had no porthole at all.

He became aware that although the ship was rocking and swaying, the engines weren't rumbling beneath him. Looking out his porthole window, he saw only the underside of a dock. They must be in Queenstown, the ship's last stop before heading for America. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was already past ten. They would be leaving within the hour.

_This is your last chance, Hudson,_ he told himself. _This is your last chance to leave this ship, give up your crazy dream, go back to your family._

Surprisingly, he found he didn't want to, not in the slightest. Despite the queasiness in his stomach—something that wasn't going to get better over the next week—and the fact that his cabin wasn't built for a man of his proportions, his nerves had evaporated entirely. He found he was fully anticipating the adventure that awaited him.

His stomach was growling with hunger—he had foregone dinner the night before—and he thought it would be better to get something to eat now, before the ship started moving again and before the influx of new passengers decided they were hungry. Quickly he changed and splashed cold water onto his face before leaving his cabin.

The corridor outside wasn't any less cramped than his room; the ceiling hovered only a few inches above his head, and he had to duck every time he passed under a light. It was three, maybe four feet wide, with doors lining the walls on either side. He made his way towards the far end, and up a rickety set of stairs. He had only the one set of stairs to climb; the dining saloons meant for third class folk were on F-deck.

Even down here, in the basement of the ship, he could appreciate its grandeur. He knew that his room, poorly stocked as it was, was still infinitely better than the third class cabins on other ships. The walls were smooth and painted, and the lights were bright and unwavering. He wondered what it was like on the upper decks, what kind of splendour the first class passengers got to enjoy.

An idea hit him, then. A slow smile spread across his face as he considered its merits. After all, how many adventures were there to be had at the bottom of a ship?

The two dining saloons were located in the middle of the ship, separated by a bulkhead. The one Finn stepped into was sparsely decorated, with enamelled white walls and long wooden tables. At an hour between breakfast and lunch, the room was almost empty. Finn took a seat, and when a waiter came by he asked for toast and eggs, and a glass of water. On the table already were a basket of bread and a bowl of fruit.

And he was only in third class!

He ate quickly once the food came. Just as he finished, the ship's horn blew, signifying that the passengers had finished loading and they were preparing for departure. The engines rumbled to life beneath him. He ran out of the dining saloon and to the nearest window just in time to see the port of Queenstown, the coast of Britain, disappear behind them.

Now there really was no turning back.

It was quarter past eleven, and the corridors of the ship were nearly empty. It seemed as good a time as any to begin his exploration, and subconsciously he straightened his jacket and drew himself up taller than his already significant height. Third class passengers weren't allowed on the second and first class decks, but he thought that maybe he could escape notice long enough to look around.

He started by working his way up, making his way from F-deck to E-deck. It was a disappointment; for the most part, it was all cabins.

D-deck was by far the most open deck on the ship; he found a third class open space, as well as a second class and a first class dining saloon, and a first class reception room. Peeking through the doors of the higher class rooms, he could see that the decor was largely improved, highly formal and much more grandiose than that provided for third class.

On the C-deck, he found two grand staircases curving down from an upper balcony. Their beauty was breathtaking, but he knew they were first class. With a deep sigh, he forced himself to move on.

On B-deck he found more first class cabins. He could tell that they were much larger than his own, just by the spacing of the doors; he wondered at the inside of them. But the doors remained closed to him, and he satisfied himself with walking down the corridors, running his hands along the panelled walls and feeling the soft carpet beneath his shoes.

Outside of one door, he found himself constrained to stop. A voice was coming from within, a singing voice, and despite his best intentions, he found himself listening.

"_Oh, say!_

_Let us fly, dear._

_Where, kid?_

_To the sky, dear..."_

It was the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. He found himself captivated by the emotion, the power behind it; his skin was tingling and his heart was racing—

A heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder, and he spun around. His stomach sank as he found himself face to face with a burly officer almost as tall as himself.

"You shouldn't be here, son."

Finn cast his gaze downward. "Sir, I—I got lost. Do you think you could help me?"

"Can I see your ticket?"

With something akin to panic, Finn fished his ticket out of his pocket and handed it to the official. His ticket had his cabin information on it, and the man would know he was lying. No one could mistake B-deck for G-deck.

But the officer said nothing. He examined the ticket for a moment before saying, "Alright, then. Right this way, if you would."

Meekly, Finn followed him down the corridor, the voice drifting behind them and echoing in his mind.

"_Whoa, dear!  
>Don't hit the moon.<em>

"_No, dear._

_Not yet, but soon."_

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Song used is Come Josephine, in My Flying Machine by Fred Fisher and Alfred Bryan. I find it funny that the lyrics from the one song I find from that era fit so perfectly with Rachel's goals and dreams. If anyone's wondering, it's also the song used during the flying scene in the Titanic movie, which was probably why I was able to find it. <strong>

**The action will pick up soon. Finn has heard Rachel's voice; when will he see her face? **

**I'll update soon. Until then, please review!**_  
><em>


	4. Dinner

**Author's Note: I have a little story to tell you.**

**Once upon a time, about three weeks ago, I read a Finchel fanfic that was so amazing I lost all hope for this one. And then I decided I needed to write something absolutely amazing, so I spent the next ten days of my life planning out a novel (which, if I ever write, will be super). **

**Also, with Harry Potter coming out tomorrow (seeing it at 12:30; I am SO EXCITED) and my favourite band releasing new songs and coming to my city on Sunday, I found it a lot easier to write those fics. I apologize deeply for my delay.**

**Anyway, tonight I finally sat myself down to finish this chapter. So, at last, here it is.**

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><p>Seven o'clock was still hours away, and Rachel needed to find some way to preoccupy herself while she waited for Shane to come get her.<p>

She started by examining her quarters. They were large, much larger than she would need; her parents, once they had heard her plans, had insisted upon getting her the best room they could afford. It was unnecessary, as she planned to spend as little time in this room as possible. She was on the largest, most extravagantship ever built, and she wasn't going to spend the time she had on it in her room.

But since she was in here...she might as well take some time to look around, right? She lifted her suitcase onto the bed and opened it, staring at the piles of clothes within. There were a lot, enough for her to start her new life in New York. It was odd to think that of all she had owned before, only her clothes and a few possessions would be kept.

She looked through those possessions now, buried where they were at the bottom of her trunk: a star-covered journal that she had had since she was a small girl; a pouch with a bundle of American money for her to use to get her feet on the ground; several photos, blurred and grainy, of her family. The most precious possession of all lay hanging around her neck: a silver and diamond star-and-moon necklace her parents had given her the day before her departure.

Sighing, she tucked the treasures back under the clothing and debated briefly whether to unpack. She would be on this ship for a week, after all, and there was that great dresser standing next to her bed, begging to be filled. And there was no reason she shouldn't make herself feel at home, she reasoned, pulling open several of the mahogany drawers and folding her dresses and coats neatly within.

Unpacking didn't take nearly as much time as she had hoped it would. When she had finished she found there were still hours to kill, and although her room wasn't huge it seemed worthy of a closer examination.

The bed itself was huge, draped with hanging canopies and squished between wall and door. Across from the bed was a small sitting area, with several chairs and a desk equipped with a lamp. She thought it would be pleasant to write in her journal there, under the bobbing light of the lamp as the ship ghosted over nightly waves.

All at once she felt a terrible bout of homesickness, although she had hardly been gone from home for half a day. It was more the thought that she wouldn't see _that_ home again; for the present this ship was her home. Her future was known only as the ship sailed its course, and after that all was uncertain. It frightened her, and she became suddenly aware that she was quite alone.

Rachel Berry had rarely felt lonely before. Of course, she had been alone numerous times, when other children refused to play with her or when her parents were out at another dinner party hosted by one of their wealthy friends. But she had always known she was different and special, set apart from other children. And at those times she had always had her voice and her music to comfort her.

Pulling herself up onto the downy bed, she now applied the same method. At first her voice was small and shaky, but as she lost herself in the song it became richer and louder, filling the room around her.

"_Whoa, dear!  
>Don't hit the moon.<em>

"_No, dear.  
>Not yet, but soon."<em>

After the song had finished she did indeed feel better about herself, and shortly after noon she ventured out of her cabin to one of the dining rooms for lunch. She spent some time exploring the vast grandeur of the ship before heading up to the top deck. The wind blowing off the ocean was brisk, and the air smelled of salt. She breathed it in, leaning over the railing and watching the wake the ship left in the waves. Any sign of land had disappeared, and only blue sea could be seen on all sides. It was impossible to think that at some point, the sea ended; at some point the skyline of New York would be visible and she would be home—her new home, at any rate.

She retreated back to her cabin late in the afternoon and spent some time getting ready. Promptly at seven there was a knock at her door and she opened it with fluttering in her stomach to see Shane standing there, dressed smartly in a black suit.

"To dinner, my lady?" he asked formally, offering his arm to her. Stifling a giggle, Rachel took it.

He led her to the first class dining saloon on the D-deck. Their conversation was light and easy; he questioned her about her goals and dreams for New York and she answered him readily, flattered that he cared.

They sat to dinner at a table for two lit by candlelight, and Rachel admitted rather shyly to herself that it was quite romantic. They were served roast beef and potatoes and corn, and wine in fancy goblets.

"Why are you on your way to America?" she asked as they ate, suddenly realizing that she knew very little about him.

A small half smile appeared on his face, but his eyes were shadowed in sadness. "My brother and his wife and child live there," he said. "Well, lived; this past month his wife passed away. It seems he's inconsolable. I felt I could do very little to help him on the other side of the world, and decided to make the trip."

"I'm sorry," she said, slightly awed by the depth of his compassion.

He shrugged, moving his gaze from hers. "She was a lovely woman," he said. "Beloved by all our family. She'll be missed."

Rachel didn't quite know what to say to this, and so only cleared her throat awkwardly. Her eyes fell on the front of the dining room, where a small stage was set up. At the moment it was empty, except for a single microphone and stand.

Shane seemed to notice the direction of her gaze and smiled; the sadness had left his eyes. "You said you wished to be a singer on the Broadway stage, yes?" he said. "Why don't you show us what you've got?"

For the first time in her life, Rachel was nervous. She didn't know what it was about this man that intimidated and fascinated her, but she very much wanted to impress him. Holding her head high, she made her way to the stage and waited until all eyes were on her. And then she closed her eyes and opened her mouth and sang.

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><p><strong>AN: Review please? I promise to TRY to update faster next time. The plot's about to pick up, so it should be easier to write.**


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